


Lepidopterophobia

by hazelandglasz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Boggarts, Fluff, Help, Hufflepuff Derek Hale, M/M, Phobias, Slytherin Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4999078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a list of prompts : "you walked in on me practicing for datda in an empty classroom, and have now inadvertently discovered that my boggart takes the form of a butterfly, please stop laughing"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lepidopterophobia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nothingcanbreakthemapart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingcanbreakthemapart/gifts).



Stiles wasn’t supposed to walk by the Muggles Studies classroom at this time of the day.

But Professor Harris kept him just long enough to make sure that unless Stiles used a secret passage, he wouldn’t be able to get to his NEWT Runes class in time.

The filthy, overgrown Bowtruckle.

Luckily, Stiles has more than one technique in his robe’s pockets, and he knows that using the third floor’s corridor actually leads to the Runes’ tower.

In your face.

As he passes the classroom, one that should be empty at this hour, Stiles is surprised to hear spells and groans coming from the door.

“Riddikulus!”

Ah, he recognizes the spell.

More importantly, he recognizes the voice.

Hale.

Derek Hale of the Badger Pack, Derek Hale and his perfect hair and his perfect broom techniques and his smirk that makes Stiles want to wipe it off with his lips or his fist, depending on his mood.

Derek Fucking Hale.

Derek Hale, who apparently feels the need to practice his Boggart fighting technique ahead of the class, fucking brownnoser.

“Aaah! Riddikulus, Riddikulus you piece of--aaah!”

Derek Hale, who apparently shrieks like an infant.

Stiles is intrigued now--well, he was pretty much intrigued the moment he recognized Derek’s voice, let’s be honest here--as to what form Derek’s Boggart can take.

Probably himself without eyebrows, Stiles muses with a snigger, slowly opening the door.

He takes the whole scene and blinks a couple of times, trying to make sense of it.

Because Derek Hale, Quidditch champion extraordinaire and amazing pain in Stiles’ butt, is trying to fend off a gigantic [butterfly](http://www.aphotofauna.com/images/butterflies/butterfly_silver_washed_fritillary_argynnis_paphia_09-08-04_1.jpg).

It does look pretty scary, Stiles muses, with its pattern and its fuzzy antennae, but it’s just …

A butterfly.

Derek Hale, stuck-up Prefect and the star of many of Stiles’ dreams, is lepidopterophobic.

Wow.

Stiles is so shocked that he might have let out a little snort of laughter at the thought, and both Derek and his Boggart turn to look at him.

The Boggart starts shimmering, as if steam is being blown in its face, and Stiles braces himself, knowing that the Boggart is adapting to his own fears.

Derek is still pale, leaning against a wall as the butterfly turns into a sickly, dark-haired woman in an hospital gown, and Stiles gulps, his heart squeezing in his chest.

The woman’s face is gaunt, dark circles around her eyes, but there is no way to doubt the connection between her and Stiles.

She opens her mouth in a shriek, but before she can utter any sound, Stiles flicks his wrist. “Riddikulus,” he says, voice cold and as hard as he can.

The woman’s body shifts, her face getting plumper and the hospital gown turning into a fairy’s dress.

Stiles lets out a small laugh before reaching to push her back into Pr. Lupin’s wardrobe.

The piece of furniture shakes a little but Stiles is careful, and he closes its locket before turning to face Derek.

“You okay, big guy?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

Derek huffs a sigh and frowns at him. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles frowns at the Prefect. “You’re welcome, are the words you were looking for, asshole,” he says as lightly as he can, because he really wants to see if Hale’s jaw can cut diamonds or if it will break when it meets his fist.

But to Stiles’ surprise, Derek opens and closes his mouth before looking down, in a manner that can only be described as sheepish.

It’s fucking adorable, and Stiles is living a nightmare.

“Sorry,” Derek mumbles before looking back at Stiles. “I should thank you.”

“Yeah you should.”

“But you surprised me,” Derek points out. “I thought I would be able to practice in peace.”

“From what I saw, you need some help,” Stiles says, going back to the door to close it. There’s no point to run to Runes class now, he may as well stay and see if he can help Derek with his … little problem.

“Hey!”

Stiles raises one eyebrow at Derek and smirks. “I’m curious, though,” he continues, as if Derek didn’t protest, “what image were you picturing to control that Boggart?”

Derek mumbles something against his chest and Stiles walks closer. “Beg your pardon?”

“I was picturing it trapped in a giant net,” Derek repeats, making a big show of enunciating every word.

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, that … I’m actually surprised, that’s pretty funny,” he comments. “Who knew?”

“What?”

“That you had a sense of humor!”

“Fuck you very much, Stilinski.”

“Gladly, Hale. Now back to your lepidopter,” he says, pointing his wand at the wardrobe, “you need a funnier image. Picture it smaller, for starters, that will help?”

Derek seems to listen to Stiles, mouthing “smaller, smaller, teeny tiny smaller” under his breath as he takes off his robes and pulls up his sleeves.

Unfair move, but okay, Stiles can deal with it.

He has dealt with it for the past two years, when Derek came back from the holidays with 5 more inches in height and 10 more stones of pure muscles.

Okay, Stiles, focus.

“Show me your Patronus,” he says, struck by inspiration.

“Why would I do that?”

“I have an idea. Come on, dude, good ol’ Patronus charm, let me see it.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek replies, but Stiles senses that it’s more out of habit than out of real spite.

Derek closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and flicks his wrist. “Expecto Patronum,” he whispers, and boy, that must be one hell of a happy memory because out of his wand comes trotting an [arctic wolf](http://orig00.deviantart.net/3f98/f/2013/316/2/2/wolf_patronus_by_tribalchick101-d6tyxpg.jpg), fluffy tail wagging behind him as the beast walks around Derek’s legs before looking at Stiles.

“Wow,” Stiles breathes, a wide smile on his face as he looks back at it, hand stretched out to touch it before he can get a hold of himself.

Derek smiles--a real, happy grin that lights up his face as he looks down at his Patronus. “Now what?”

Stiles looks back at him and opens his hands to point out the obvious. “Just picture your Patronus smashing that damn butterfly!” he exclaims, “Or wearing it as a mask, or just sniffing it--that should do the trick!”

Derek nods, picturing it, and there is that smile again, even brighter and Stiles is close to swooning.

“I can try,” Derek says finally, the Patronus dissolving in the air. “Will you--will you stay? In case it doesn’t work?”

Stiles beams at him and gets his wand back from over his ear where he left it. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Derek gives him a look that clearly says what he thinks of Stiles, soft, weak Stiles and his ability to protect him, and he smirks before turning towards the wardrobe.

That ass.

(Literally and as an insult)

“Alohomora!”

\---

It takes Derek a couple of tries to get the picture of a wolf chomping down the butterfly, but he gets there.

They’re both sweating and short of breath when Derek says that he feels ready--Stiles working hard to fight off the Boggart when it turned to him, and Derek is even more admirative of his fellow Prefect than he was before for his strength of character--and they plop into chairs.

“I don’t know about you,” Stiles says, and Derek resists the urge to touch the sliver of skin appearing over his waistband now that Stiles is sprawled over the desk, “but I could use a sweet snack.”

“I could eat,” Derek says, sniffing haughtily to keep the growls of his stomach quiet.

He’s about to offer to get to the kitchens--and Stiles would appreciate the whole Hufflepuff knowledge about the entrance, and the house elves, and he would look at Derek with his big, Butterbeer eyes and they would lean and … and Derek needs to stop listening to Celestina Warbeck’s songs--when Stiles snaps his fingers three times.

A House elf appears, beaming at Stiles. “Master Stilinski, Sir,” he says in the squeaky voice of his kind, “how can Greenby be of service today?”

“Hello Greenby,” Stiles says with a soft smile, “could you bring us a couple of hot chocolates and some biscuits, please?”

Greenby prattles about how he will bring the best snack ever for them, but Derek is too distracted to listen to it.

Now that’s just unfair.

Stiles has no right being smart and cute and talented and polite with the House Elves, it’s just too much.

Greenby disappears with a pop and Derek shakes his head.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Derek says, looking away and focusing on his wand, twirling it between his fingers. “You know, Stilinski, we’ve been in almost the same classes since we started Hogwarts.”

“Yep, I know.”

“And it’s almost the end of it.”

“Yep.”

“And I barely know you,” Derek says, looking back at Stiles.

The Slytherin prefect is smoothing down his tie, sprawled in his chair, and Derek has never wanted to take a hold of that tie as badly as he does now.

Stiles looks bewildered for a second, before giving Derek a crooked smile. “There’s still time to change that, you know?”

Derek stands up to sit closer to Stiles and he smiles back. “Yep, I know.”


End file.
